Ephēmeros
by Tuppence
Summary: Greek for short lived, lasting but a day. Such are the lives of the Beboppers. The start of a series of non-chronological drabbles, in no particular order. "Cold Cup of Coffee". Please pretty please review if you read it. xXx
1. She ate the dog food

**Author's note:** Well, I thought I would try my hand at a few drabbles. I've had this one in my mind for quite some time. I hope you guys like it. Please let me know if you see anything good or bad in it.

Cowboy Bebop is not owned by me, alas.

**Ephemeros**

**She ate the dog food**

"You just ate dog food!" Spike said, his voice full of bemusement.

"No. I didn't." Faye said, as she casually threw away the empty can of dog food, never glancing back to see if it fell anywhere near the bin. It didn't. It fell near Spike's feet.

"Yes you did. I just saw you." Spike persisted, leaving the empty can near his feet, his eyes following Faye as she moved away from him.

"No, I didn't." She said, without looking back at him.

"Look, I just saw you throw away that empty can. You ate the damn dog food!" Spike found himself shuffling behind her, following her without realising it.

"No, I didn't." She still didn't look back, and Spike found himself getting angry. He wasn't sure whether it was because she was blatantly lying, or because she wasn't annoyed.

"Stop lying Faye. You _ate_ the damn food. Just admit it." He was surprised when she stopped and turned around to face him. It seemed to appease his anger a little.

"No, I didn't." Her voice was very level and Spike's anger began peaking again.

"You're such a liar! Why won't you admit that you ate the dog food?" He snapped without understanding why.

A slow smile spread across Faye's face, a very small smile. It was sweet and mysterious and confusing and a little cocky and so many other things that Spike couldn't decipher. "You're hallucinating." She left him gaping. She always left him gaping. She always left him staring at her in disbelief and bewilderment and amusement and she _always_ left him wondering whether he should slap her or walk away or do something equally insane to leave her gaping. He didn't have to make a choice this time because Jet walked in.

"There you two are. Wasting time and money, no doubt." He looked at them both, unimpressed. "I've got a bounty."

"How much?" Spike stretched himself lazily, aware that Faye was still looking at him, with that smile of hers. He realised now that there was amusement in that smile too. He wondered what else there was in that smile.

"Only a million." Jet hurriedly continued speaking, expecting Spike to refuse such a small bounty in an instant. "I know it's a small fry, but we need the money. We're _desperate_ for the money. Damn it, we don't have any food, so _no _bitching from you two, ok? I want the damn bounty, I want food and I want _no _complaints." He glared at them both, even though Faye still wasn't looking at him. She was looking at Spike with one of her kaleidoscopic smiles, containing fragments of so many different things that Jet could think about it for hours and still find something new in them, at the end of those hours.

Spike yawned widely. "Fine, I'll do it. But only to stop you whining at me. God, Jet, you're such a woman sometimes." He was careful to not look in Faye's direction. Instead, he linked his hands together behind his head, and walked past Jet, whistling casually for a good measure. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but he didn't want Faye being hungry enough to eat dog food, even if she infuriated him by denying it. Damn it! He _knew_ she ate the dog food!

**Author's Note:** Please review it. I love it when people favourite the story or put it on alert, but the only way I will improve is if I can tell what's good in the writing, and what's bad. So if you have time, please review the story.


	2. Sleepwatching

**Author's note:** Ok, so here's another slightly Faye-centric drabble. It came to me so I thought I would write it down, especially since I've elected to take this weekend off from work. Come Monday, it'll be back to the usual stressful revision.

As always, I don't own Cowboy Bebop.

**Eph****ē****meros**

**Sleep-watching**

There were times when Faye would fall asleep in the communal area, and there were times when he watched her as she slept. She'd sometimes sleep on the sofa, if Spike was gone or busy doing something else. There were times when she slept on the armchair, when Spike pretended to sleep on his sofa but covertly watched her.

It was eerie watching her sleep. She looked different. Her defences were down and that made her seem stronger and more vulnerable at the same time. Her breathing became steady, a far cry from the erratic breathing and erratic behaviour of the shrew.

Even when she slept on the sofa, she'd end up curled up, knees drawn to her chest, usually one hand under her head. She looked like a child in those times. She had the large eyes of a child, the button nose, the pout; she had the sleeping patterns of a child too. She could sleep whenever and wherever she felt tired. She'd sleep curled up into a ball, and sometimes, she'd remind him of a kitten. She could scratch and bite with the best of them, when she was threatened, but when she wasn't, it was like all she wanted was a stroke or two and she would be happy.

He wondered what Spike thought of her when she slept. He'd caught him once, glancing at her when her breathing had become hitched. And he saw him relax, when the breathing became deep and calm again. He really wanted to know what Spike thought of her as she slept. He never brought it up though. It was like an unspoken acceptance. Faye, when she was sleeping, was out of bounds. The worst they would do is wake her up, but they could never use anything in that time against her.

There were times when she would mumble words in her sleep. Those were the times when both he and Spike watched her more closely and more openly than usual. He'd wonder if they were watching over her, but what for? How much harm could dreams do to her? There were times when he saw Spike watching her closely, as she mumbled words, trying to understand what she was saying and what she was thinking. Maybe Spike was trying to understand her? He refused to do that though – he never tried to eavesdrop on her dreams, because every time she had these dreams, she'd wake up looking lost and scared, just like the child she looked like when she slept. She would avoid all eye contact and trudge up to her own bedroom. He could see Spike's eyes following her as she left. He didn't think she ever realised Spike did that – watched over her. He didn't think she realised _he _watched over her either.

He often wondered about himself too, as he watched her. Watched over her? Why did he do that? He hadn't found an answer to date. He doubted that Spike did either. But whenever Faye fell asleep, he'd sometimes see Spike watching her, and sometimes he'd watch her too.

**Author's note:** This one was supposed to be from Jet's point of view. Was this clear? Reviews always (very) welcome. Hope you enjoyed this one. I thought it was far more introspective than the last one. Not sure when it takes place – any time really. (Even after Real Folk Blues, if you're one of the believers in Spike's survival. ;) )


	3. Cold Cup of Coffee

**Author's notes****:** I'm not as satisfied with this one as the others. It was hard to get the writing flowing, but once it did, it was hard to stop. Hence how long it is. I hope you guys like it. It's slightly rambley and crazy and odd but...that's Spike for you. Enjoy.

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**Eph****ē****meros**

**Cold Cup Of Coffee**

He wasn't entirely sure how long he had been staring at it. He wasn't even sure why he was staring at it. After all, it was only a cup of coffee. A cup of coffee almost completely full up, he thought irritably. Why the hell would she make herself a cup of coffee, only to take what looked like a few sips from it? It was stupid; stupid and wasteful and selfish. And that was her all over, from what little he'd seen of her so far.

And why was she on the ship? Why was she staying with them? Who told her that she could stay with them? It was irritating, infuriating and it made him want to scream at her.

Instead, he was leaning against the yellow sofa, staring fixedly at the offensive cup of coffee. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He wasn't so much staring at the cup of coffee as at the lipstick mark on the cup of coffee. It's how he knew the cup wasn't his or Jet's…unless Jet had a fetish he hadn't announced yet. And Ed had never acted like a girl before, so why would she act like a girl now? And Ein...he paused in thought over Ein, but eventually decided that Ein was smart enough to outsmart any attempts by Faye to put lipstick on him. Besides which, the lip mark was distinctly human and not canine. So all in all, she was the culprit, he thought moodily.

She'd come in just yesterday, moving in without invitation (and, in fact, ignoring their protests!) and somehow, the whole aura of the place had changed; annoyingly so. And this _atrocity_ that he was staring at had been the focal point of all his irritation with her moving in for the last god knows how long; this cup of coffee, _almost full_, cold from having been left for hours (or at least long enough for hot coffee to have become undrinkably cold) and with the red imprint of her bottom lip left there as a forever reminder that she had moved in and there was no amount of sulking, threatening, pouting or throwing tantrums that could change it.

That cold cup of black coffee pretty much described her, he thought, broodingly staring at the cup and refusing to look elsewhere. She was selfish and self-centred, wanton and a user. She's just the kind of person who would use someone else's instant coffee to make herself a cup, take a sip and leave the rest because she got distracted by a cloud or something. Of course, a cloud found in the middle of space would be a justifiable distraction but the implication remained. She was a user who had the temerity to not only make it obvious, but make it blatantly obvious that she was the inconsiderate bitch who had made herself a cup of coffee and left it standing to get wasted. That lipstick mark was a symbol. How much lipstick did she wear anyway, to leave such a perfect imprint of her bottom lip on the outside of the cup? The curve was so smooth, not a line or wrinkle that could testify to lips that were the slightest bit dry.

His lips tweaked upwards for a fraction of a moment, as he imagined lips caked with so much lipstick that there would be a permanent red trail everywhere Faye went and then he scowled returned, his eyes never leaving that damned red lip mark. He hated that he had wasted the whole morning, staring at an offensive red mark on an offensive cup of cold coffee that was still full. This was what women did. They moved in, _without permission_. They took over your lives, making it hell, using all the hot water, getting offended when you walk in on them in the showers and purposely doing things to piss you off and offend you. Like leaving a cup of coffee to get cold and leaving a bright red, perfectly imprinted mark, as if to mock you.

She was the worst of the kind, he thought, looking accusingly at the lipstick as if it were Faye herself. She used everyone else's things and flaunted it. She used and abused. His lips twitched fractionally upwards again. She was a user and abuser, and gods, he should not be smiling at the thought of the kind of using and abusing she might do in bed. He should not be thinking about the red stain on the cup of coffee and imagining it on body parts other than lips. He should not be thinking about the sensation of a cold cup of coffee on skin. Or a hot cup of coffee...or sensations on skin in general, not whilst staring at a cup of coffee that looked more and more dangerous as time went by. Red was most definitely the colour of hell, and not because of the fire, he decided, as he glared at the cup.

He stretched himself, yawning, his eyes never leaving the cup. Damn the wench and her stupid red lipstick and her stupid cup of coffee. Women ruined everything, like the morning nap he always had after waking up first thing in the morning. He'd come to the yellow couch – for some reason, he always slept better on the couch than he did in his own bed – and lo and behold, he'd seen that cup of coffee. He didn't have a problem with coffee; in fact, he liked it a lot, especially mornings after he'd been drinking lots. It smelt warm and comfortable and homey...except when it was cold, splashed with a red mark as an announcement from one hell of a woman that she was here and here to stay. It was insulting, that's what it was. It was done with the sole purpose of irritating him by distracting him from his usual nap and mocking him thereafter. He briefly wondered if he'd finally gone insane. He had a feeling his current thoughts sounded much like paranoia but then he remembered Faye Valentine. When it came to her, nothing could be construed as paranoia or outside the realm of possibility. She definitely had a purpose behind leaving this cup of coffee, complete with one imprint of her perfect bottom lip – one perfect imprint of her bottom lip he meant, trying to push down the faint blush in his cheeks with sheer willpower alone.

THIS was what she was doing to him! Just by moving in and leaving a stupid cup of coffee around. She was making him miss his naps by stalking a cup of coffee instead and turning his thoughts all crazy and non-Julia related. She was SATAN!

He was leaning over the back of the couch now, somewhat resembling a rat insofar as his nose was twitching as he looked suspiciously at the cup. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing but he knew that he shouldn't be caught doing it, so he turned a furtive glance to his left, his right and back to his left before leaning further forward over the back of his couch. This was stupid. He shouldn't be furtive in his own abode...unless it was after one of _those_ nights or he was avoiding Jet making him chase a bounty...or Jet mentioning the words 'rent' and 'repair costs'. But he _definitely_ shouldn't be acting furtive over a cup of coffee because of a lipstick mark!

He was draped over the couch now, still as clueless about what he was doing as before. So, as always with him, he thought – what the fuck, I'll go along with this and see where I end up. And following actions to his thought, he slipped over the back of the couch and lay low on the floor. He paused for a moment, his ears almost twitching with his attempt to listen for any faint sounds that could indicate any form of life coming towards him. Hearing nothing, he looked quickly to the left and right, back to the left and started crawling towards the cup of coffee warily. The stealth he used against bounties was now being used to good effect at imitating a cat prowling a slice of cheese. He briefly wondered if cats themselves felt as stupid as he did right now, and then decided swiftly that no, they didn't because even when stalking cheese, it was food – not a cup of coffee that had irritated them and stopped them from having their morning nap.

Regardless, he crept forward in his best bounter-hunter-hunting-a-bounty way, slowly, quietly, creepily and keeping an ear out should he hear anyone coming. Once he reached the coffee, he looked down at the black liquid. He could see an imprint of her top lip on the inside of the rim, now; a perfect little bow. He leant over it, sniffing it with his nose twitching. It _smelt_ like normal coffee, so what had she objected to so much?

He turned quick, wary glances around the room, making sure they were no witnesses to his act. In one smooth, swift movement, his right hand had grabbed the cup and lifted it to his lips. He took one small sip and, coughing and gagging, he spat it out into the cup. Bloody hell, just how much sugar had she put into the cup? He kind of got why she hadn't taken much more than a sip now but hadn't she ever drunk coffee before? Didn't she know how to make a decent cup of coffee? Clearly not, he thought, looking disdainfully down at the cup before making his way back to the couch, this time to sleep.

The next morning, he woke up in his room and made his habitual way over to the yellow couch. His eyes observed another cup of coffee left on the kitchen counter with the red imprint of a perfect bottom lip but he looked away and lay down on the couch. He refused to waste his time over her wasteful habits. He lay down and closed his eyes for all of maybe three minutes before he sighed, opened his eyes and looked at the offending cup. He had a really bad feeling that he'd picked up another bad habit.

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Brief thanks to the following for either reviewing or adding the story to alert or to favourite. All of this is very supportive. Kahoko; papai; SayahYagashi.


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